Except for our friend Owen being badly beaten up in the Washington High restroom and hospitalized, the school year passed uneventfully. In June, I gave my first organ recital, playing Purcell, Bach, Dupré, Sowerby, and Mendelssohn. There were probably 75 to 100 people there, including Mr. Atkinson, and of course Christian and both pairs of parents. Although I was nervous before I began, I thoroughly enjoyed playing once I started. After the recital, Christian and I agreed to do a joint concert the next year with me performing some organ pieces and his trio performing some chamber music. We immediately began to plan the program, although, of course, a great deal of it changed in a year.
Prior to leaving for Tanglewood in July, I asked my parents again for permission to read the Kinsey Report, and they agreed to check it out of the library when we returned.
Our parents had purchased tickets for both Saturday and Sunday this year, meaning that we would stay overnight in a nearby B&B. Of course, Christian and I were hoping they would get a room for the two of us. No such luck! They had an extra bed put in each of the two rooms so that we slept with our parents. We weren’t totally surprised, I suppose, just disappointed.
We arrived at the Tanglewood grounds in time to attend a chamber music concert on Saturday afternoon with Istomine, Stern and Rose playing three Beethoven piano trios. Christian was ecstatic. Isaac Stern was also the soloist in the evening, offering a tender yet passionate rendition of the Brahms violin concerto.
We ate a leisurely breakfast at the B&B before checking out and returning to Tanglewood. The afternoon concert was an all-Beethoven program, with Rudolph Serkin featured playing the Beethoven Fifth Piano Concerto. His performance was stunning. As he played, his body seemed very tense and rigid, but that certainly did not harm his music. For an encore he chose a piece which all piano students from the mediocre on up think they know: The Minuet in G by Paderewski. Initially I was disappointed that he had chosen such an ordinary piece, but then I realized that, the way he was playing, it wasn’t ordinary at all. He used quite a bit of rubato, making each return of the theme subtly different. The playing was tranquil and exquisitely controlled. As the last note faded from the shed, for a moment nobody moved or, perhaps, even breathed. Then the audience rose in unison and erupted into cheers and applause.
True to their word, when we returned home my parents checked out the much-discussed book. For the first time, I held it in my hands: Sexual Behavior in the Human Male, by Kinsey, Pomeroy, and Martin. I felt as though I was holding the Holy Grail. Immediately, I went to my room and began reading. I didn’t read all of it because I thought that much of it didn’t pertain to me, but I read Chapter 21, “Homosexual Outlet,” three times and looked over other chapters I thought would be interesting, taking copious notes as I read the second and third times. Twelve days later, I told my parents I was ready to discuss what I had found in the book. For practice, I had told Christian much of what I had read. He was somewhat jealous because I had read the book and he couldn’t. We talked about him coming to my house to read it until we realized that would again raise trust issues.
I arrived at the kitchen table with the book and my notes. “Uh oh,” said my mother, “I think we’re in for a lecture.” I told her I really didn’t want a lecture. After all, they had both read the book. Instead, I wanted an honest discussion.
My father began the discussion by saying that, in addition to reading the relevant parts, he had also read the four chapters in Part I, called “History and Method.” Although he acknowledged he was not a scientist, he said he had been impressed by the interviewing techniques and by the statistical analysis which had been done. In short, he thought it was a very thorough research project. Then he asked me what I had read and thought about.
I began by saying, “Well, we knew that the book would not discuss the moral aspects of homosexuality or make judgments, although I did find at least one passage where Kinsey seemed to take sides. I’ll save that for later. But first,” I went on, “I was very intrigued by the Rating Scale. I had always assumed that a man was either heterosexual or homosexual, but Kinsey sees an entire continuum between those two points where people have a variety of experiences both ways. For instance a man could be exclusively homosexual, but he could also be predominantly homosexual with incidental or more than incidental heterosexual experiences. He could also be fifty-fifty, and, of course, the heterosexual could have similar variations. At one point, the book says, ‘Actually, of course, one must learn to recognize every combination of heterosexuality and homosexuality in the histories of various individuals.’
“I believe I am exclusively homosexual, but I won’t automatically close my mind to other experiences if I feel inclined. According to one chart, if we take all the fifteen-year-olds interviewed and look at the categories 3 through 6 on the scale, which go from 50-50 to exclusively homosexual, 13.4% of boys my age fall on that side of the scale, with 7.4% of them being exclusively homosexual.”
“OK,” said my father, “so what does that tell you?”
“For one thing, it tells me that Christian and I aren’t as rare as we thought. In fact, according to the total figures on pages 650-651, for all men between adolescence and old age, some 50% of them have had at least some homosexual experience. In another spot,” I continued, “the book said, ‘In these terms (of physical contact to the point of orgasm) the data in the present study indicates that at least 37 per cent of the male population has some homosexual experience between the beginning of adolescence and old age.’ In fact,” I went on, “Table 139 shows that 31.6% have had homosexual experience by my age,” and I showed them the table.
“And?” my father asked.
“I must admit,” I answered, “that now every time I walk down the street or in the halls at school I wonder which ones have and which ones haven’t.” They smiled.
“Listen to this,” I said, beginning to enjoy myself. “‘Every school teacher and principal who is faced with the problem of the individual boy should realize that something between a quarter and a third of all the other boys in the same high school have had at least some homosexual experience since they turned adolescent.’ Now do you see why I wonder about the other boys in school?”
My mother laughed, and my father joined in. “I think we’ll leave that question right where it is for now,” chuckled my father. “What else?”
Naturally, I was dying to ask my father where he fell on the Rating Scale, but even I knew that that would be too bold, so I just went on. “I found a paragraph on page 384 that talked about the acceptance of the homosexual. It said, ‘The acceptance of the homosexual in top educational and social levels is the product of a wider understanding of realities, some comprehension of the factors involved, and more concern over the mental qualities and social capacities of an individual than over anything in his sexual history.’ To me, that means that acceptance depends on understanding what really affects homosexuals and our minds and our relationships. I think ‘realities’ means an understanding of what is truly going on, instead of some ethereal moral judgment. I sometimes wonder how many of the large percentage of men who have had some experience hate themselves for it and impose their judgment on others who are just like them.”
“That’s an interesting question,” said my mother. “We do know that all through history, many people who judge other people are actually hypocrites, and that we should be very careful of judging others.”
“The last item I found,” I continued, “was late in the chapter. It’s the closest I can find to a position being taken on the right or wrong of judging. It says, ‘In view of the data which we now have on the incidence and frequency of the homosexual and in particular on its co-existence with the heterosexual in the lives of a considerable portion of the male population, it is difficult to maintain the view that psychosexual reactions between individuals of the same sex are rare and therefore abnormal or unnatural, or that they constitute within themselves evidence of neuroses or even psychoses.’ I’m not sure just what ‘neuroses’ or ‘psychoses’ are, but I think it means that we aren’t crazy and that we aren’t abnormal or unnatural. You can’t know what a huge relief it was to find this passage and to read that I really am normal and OK.”
“I’m sure that’s true, Peter, and I’m happy for you that you found it,” my father said. “You’ve certainly done your homework well. Of course, you do know that this is just one study, but it clearly appears to be the most thorough, careful study so far. Perhaps, some day, we will know more. We may even find out why some people are primarily homosexual and others are primarily heterosexual, but for now we have to go with the information we have.
“As a next step, I think your mother and I would like to borrow your notes, look some passages in the book over again, and talk with each other about where we go from here. Would that be acceptable to you?”
“Yes, Sir. I should tell you that I shared what I had found with Christian, whose parents won’t even look at the book, so he and I are pretty much on the same page, but I don’t think his parents are as open as you two are. Thank you so much for listening to me.”
With that, I hugged them both, left the room, and went to my bedroom, where I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I believed I had given it my best shot, and now I had to wait. I was so nervous through the whole discussion, I wondered if they had seen my hands shaking. We had talked about sex more openly than we had before and used words that we had never before used. I, for one, was a wreck. After all, I’m sure that was the first time I had ever said the word ‘orgasm’ in front of my parents!
Christian had insisted I should call him when we finished, so I called him from my parents’ bedroom. I recounted everything that had been said as accurately as I could. When I stopped I heard a heavy sigh come from his phone. “I wish I could talk with my parents like that,” he said. “They’re still stuck on the Bible thing. But thanks for letting me know that we really aren’t unnatural or abnormal, or crazy. That helps a lot.”
We hung up and, after a few minutes, I went down to play the piano, which I always did after something stressful happened. Somehow, playing seemed to help me relax and get back on an even keel. As I played and thought, I realized that our meeting hadn’t been as much of a discussion as I had anticipated. I had thought they might argue some points, or find other places in the book that negated my points. They had really just listened, and I realized what good listeners they had been, patiently drawing me out until I had really had my say. I felt very grateful to them.
Two days later, my parents called me into the kitchen. I felt like a defendant waiting to hear what the jury’s verdict was. This time, my mother began. “Peter, as we said the other day we were very impressed with what you found and how you presented it. I think that, with our last discussion combined with all we had talked about over the last two years, you have dispelled just about all of the objections we had to your relationship with Christian.”
Joy surged through me, and I exclaimed, “YES!”
She went on, “Now, you need to remember that just because you have convinced us, does not mean that the world is by any means convinced. Whatever you do, you need to be extremely careful where you do things and what you say and show to other people. You remember how Owen got hurt. I’m sorry we haven’t met him, but you did see what can happen.”
“Oh my. I too am sorry you haven’t met him. It never occurred to me that you hadn’t. We’ll have to fix that. Of course, Owen has always been more flamboyant than we have. As for your warning, I do take it very seriously.”
My father went on, “In fact, we were so impressed that we have decided to call Christian’s parents and try to talk with them about this, either with or without you and Christian, whichever they prefer. May we keep your notes for awhile longer?”
“Certainly, although I would like them back to keep sometime. After all, they mark a big turning point for me.”
So it was agreed, and once more I went upstairs to call Christian. When he answered, I told him what my parents had agreed to and he was elated. Then I told him what they had said about talking with his parents.
“Oh, God, I hope they really listen,” he said wistfully.
“We can but try,” I said, and we hung up on a happy note.
When my parents called the Walkers they agreed to talk with my parents but not with me and Christian present, so my parents went to their house the next evening and had a long discussion with them. (I wondered if Christian had found a way to eavesdrop!) Arriving home, they simply said that the Walkers had listened to them respectfully and that when Dad had read the last quote I had given, they had asked to borrow the book and my notes, which somehow were getting farther and farther away from me.
A week later, Christian returned my notes. At first, I couldn’t tell from his expression what had happened, but he said his parents thought I had done a great job of putting things together. They had pondered long and hard about what they had read and how it related to the two of us. He said that they were relieved to find that we weren’t as unnatural as they had thought, and that, while they continued to have religious reservations, they were ready to support us when we turned eighteen.
“Eighteen! Will we ever get there?” I wondered that night. We had just recently turned sixteen, which meant, of course, that we had two more years to wait.
On a slightly different topic, after haunting hardware stores for some time, I finally found an acrylic rod. Its diameter was not as large as I wished, and I had to sand one end in order to round it off, but it did work quite well. I put it to use that night after talking with Christian. Lying naked on my bed, I fantasized that Christian lay beside me, his gentle hands moving over my face, my neck, my chest. As my cock stirred he kissed me, his tongue in my mouth in a slow dance with mine. My cock sprang to attention. He ran his tongue over my chest, nibbling my nipples, tonguing my navel. As he moved to my cock, I put cream on my fingers and lubricated my hole, inserting my middle finger as far as it would go. Then, taking the rod, I laid it gently in my hole and slowly pushed. As the tension mounted in my groin, I maneuvered the rod until it touched my prostate. A tremor flowed through me as I found the sweet spot. Then, slowly I moved the rod in and out, my right hand on my dick, pumping gradually up and down. The tension rose and rose. Arching my back I exploded, cum spattering up my chest to my chin. When the throbbing subsided, I lay quietly, Christian licking and swallowing my cum. He smiled knowingly before lying again beside me. I removed the rod, wiping it and myself with tissues. I sighed. I was relieved for the moment but longing for the day when Christian would truly be beside me and it would be his cock seeking my prostate. At last, I slept.
The next school year began as usual. Owen had called us at the end of the summer to inform us that his father had decided to send him to a private school in New Hampshire, hoping that Owen would be safer. We certainly could understand the reason, but we truly enjoyed Owen as a friend and we would miss him. We agreed to get together over the Christmas vacation.
So it was just Christian and I at lunch together on the first day of school, but shortly after that, we began to be joined off and on by members of The Classical Singers, with whom we thoroughly enjoyed singing. They all read music well and Mr. Atkinson was an excellent conductor. We were looking forward to giving concerts and even appearing on local TV.
One girl in the group, Penny Dolan, often joined us. She had fiery red hair, freckles, and a cute little turned up nose. In fact, since she was a little less than five feet tall, one could say that she was cute in many ways. When she joined us, she usually sat next to me and across from Christian. She had a wonderful laugh and she became a good friend. Eventually, we went to a couple of movies together, aided by the fact that I finally had my driver’s license.
One day, Christian said, “I need to talk with you about Penny.”
Of course, I immediately thought he was jealous again. “Christian,” I said, “there’s absolutely nothing going on between us. We’re just good friends.”
“I know that, but some people in The Singers have told me that she is totally in love with you. She’s told them she’s never been kissed, and they think it’s about time you took care of that.”
“Good grief. I never realized she felt that way. I’ll talk with her as soon as possible. Thanks for tipping me off.”
At the end of lunch that day, I asked Penny if we could talk for a few minutes after school. She positively beamed at me as she replied, “Of course.” We agreed to meet on the front steps.
I arrived before her. When she walked up, I took her gently by the arm and led her away from the rest of the students. I had no idea how to do this in the gentlest way. She looked at me expectantly. Finally I stammered, “P-Penny, do you know what a…homosexual is?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m not igno…” I saw the look, first of surprise, then of recognition, and finally of dismay on her face.
“Are you telling me you are one?” She asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve known for about three years now. I’m so sorry. I heard that the other singers were thinking I was in love with you and that I needed to kiss you. I’m afraid that never can happen, Penny.”
“Oh dear!” She thought quietly for a moment. “I suppose I do understand,” Although she had a tear or two in her eye, she wasn’t really crying. “Are you in love with Christian?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. I don’t think very many people know that. We’ve been trying to be very careful.” Then I told her about what had happened to Owen last year. Finally, I asked, “Can you forgive me for not telling you sooner? I was totally oblivious to what was going on.”
“Yes, of course I can, but can we still be good friends? I enjoy doing things with you.”
I eagerly agreed, telling her that I still wanted to be friends and so did Christian. I gave her a little kiss on the cheek and went over to the church to practice. From that day on, the three of us were the best of friends. I don’t know what she said to her friends about our relationship, but I do know that she never gave our secret away. She continued to join us often for lunch and once in awhile we went to a movie or a high school basketball game together. Sometimes, Christian joined us and sometimes he didn’t, but he always knew that he was invited.
At Christmas time, the Classical Singers performed for several local adult groups. Mr. Atkinson told us what a good PR group we were for school music. We also sang a half hour program at the local TV station. We had never sung in a TV studio. As soon as we entered the studio, we realized that there was absolutely no reverberation in the room and that, as a result, it was very difficult to hear each other. Somehow, we muddled through, and my parents, who watched it of course, said we did very well. (Yes, I realized that my parents would say that about almost anything I did unless it was an obvious disaster, but I never tired of hearing praise.)
The day after Christmas, Christian and I met at Owen’s house, where we enjoyed chatting for about an hour and a half, catching up on all the news. Then I invited Owen to meet my parents. Christian had decided that the time was not yet right for his parents to meet Owen and his flamboyance. We all walked to my house. I had already informed my parents that Owen was somewhat different from us. They were very gracious, served us refreshments, and asked Owen about his new school, which Owen liked very much.
After he left, my mother said, “Yes, he is different, but I like him a lot. Do you know any others who are that…outward?”
“Other than his father, and of course Mr. Partridge and his partner, I really don’t.”
She asked, “Has Mr. Partridge ever said anything to you about sex?”
“No, he never has. I know he and his partner are queer, but he has never said anything or touched me in any inappropriate way.” She was relieved to hear that, and we dropped the subject.
Nothing of great interest happened that year until June, when Christian’s trio and I gave a concert in the Congregational church. There had been a notice of the concert in the paper, so there were nearly 200 people attending, including Owen, his father, Mr. Atkinson and all of The Classical Singers, some of our other teachers, and many people from the church as well as some from groups who had heard the trio perform. I played the Bach B minor Prelude, some more Mendelssohn, and some Franck. The trio played Haydn, Schubert, and Brahms. Throughout the performance the audience was wonderfully appreciative. Following the concert our parents gave a reception in the church hall. Mr. Atkinson suggested that next year we might think about adding The Classical Singers to a somewhat longer concert, and we both liked the idea. The next morning, there was a glowing review of the concert in the Westbridge newspaper.
In July, we were off to Tanglewood again for two days. Again we listened to a chamber music concert on Saturday afternoon, this time by a new group, The Beaux Arts Trio. The concert was, in fact, their debut performance. They were so tuned in to each other that I couldn’t believe they hadn’t been playing together for years.
That evening’s orchestral performance was an all-Tchaikovsky concert—deeply emotional music and beautifully conducted by my hero Leonard Bernstein, who also conducted the Sunday afternoon concert. It was all Mozart and included, in addition to the Symphonies Nos. 35 and 41, two piano concerti which Bernstein conducted from the keyboard. I knew this was the way such concerti were performed in Mozart’s day, but I had never seen or heard it done before. I was enthralled.
That July we turned seventeen. One more year of frustration to go! I seriously wondered if we could last that long. Jerking off multiple times a day and fantasizing about Christian was, as Kinsey would say, ‘a release,’ but it just didn’t really satisfy anymore. I wanted so badly to feel his body next to mine, his hands caressing me, and his lips lovingly exploring me all over. I knew that Christian felt the same, but we could only look longingly at each other in the car or in our backyards and continue fantasizing for the duration of the summer.